To triumph as a woman is how you make goddess sing praise; Respect to all the ladies who persevere & show grace.

Love to all of those who stay poised when in doubt; Know that you’re great both within & without.

Life can be a deep abyss & yet she’ll still rise; Finding ways to improve the days from sunrise til night.

Be a friend to women around you, even those you don’t like; help her become something great & you’ll both be alright.

You & I, united by
              the common light
                    of our fair moon,

          Yearn for more
      than a life ill-spent
   chasing gold doubloons.

Moonlight peaking through blinds    
intermingling with candlefire,  
Illuminating a tired artist    
creating out of an innate desire.  
Cups of coffee, cream & sugar    
downed two at a time for stamina    
while the typewriter tatters away      
fabricating a tapestry of stories      
weaved by burgeoning personas.

Who are you?

the stories ask

The coffee? The cream?    
The paper? The sugar?    
The moon? The light?    
The candle? Their user?      
Are you the art or the artist?    
The heart or its confuser?

All of these questions & more boggle      
the artist, who knows not the difference  
between imagination & its manifestation,    
reality.

Our rational world of thought has given way
to a mystical realm harbored deep within
every subconscious; a subterfuge of
silver threads that discreetly tie us together.

Every night, one after another,    
minds across the world become interwoven
into a network of murmured incantations.      
Dreams lost in translation like travelers    
awaiting trains at different destinations.

heart to heart connections,
warm embraces in cold moments,
reconciling our perspectives
& realigning each other’s focus.
—————————————————
tactful conversations,
with intentional devotion,
healing the deepest of wounds
& building bridges over oceans.

When the impossible
becomes inevitable
& all else seems to fail,
obstacles that once burdened
paths fall to the wayside,
making way for silent miracles.

Polyrhythms & sunny synths
rippling across the surface
of a blue lagoon as we are guided
to ascend by an enlightened
soul with the force of a typhoon.

Tinkling melodies & shining stars
gracing through the galaxies
within our hearts, pacing
in circles as it all continues
to lovingly fall apart.

Good vibes & joyous moments
take us all on a mystical journey
through the folds of time
as we flow through the waters
of golden beaches so divine.

What wonderful luck to be alive,
coexisting with the beauty
of a land touched by starlight.
An uplifting sea of memories
surfaces as nostalgia subtly sways
through the summer leaves,
floating upon a gentle breeze
giving way to an easy night.

Paradise is a state of mind
In a place where there is plenty-
A place where on your down time
Things look more than just pretty.

Paradise can mean a lot of things,
It can be multiple places.
The coming & going of years
Passing over different faces.

Paradise can bring you fortune-
Her smile may even give some fame,
But she levees a heavy tax
For all who stand to gain.

Paradise takes your heart & soul
Just to make you feel at home,
Not knowing whether you’ll get to leave
Feeling broken or as a new whole.

Paradise is a vacation-
Paradise is a job.
Paradise is exploitation-
Paradise is a massage.

Paradise is a place to enjoy
As others are made to suffer,
With money standing in between
To play the role of buffer.

Paradise is a cup of coffee
Paradise is a broken promise
Paradise is a rolled up leaf
Paradise is a stolen profit

Paradise is whatever you
want it to be,
As long as you make it yourself
& don’t steal it like a thief.

Obsidian wind chimes
welcome the crashing waves
as another day exits, slowly
sinking beneath the bay.

Cool waters drenched in
an almost amethyst hue
offer mental reverberations
as I ponder what I am next to do.

Though the sea is but a tide
that ebbs & flows-
repletes & recedes-
her words of wisdom forgo
past the banks of her beaches
& spread a breeze to every corner
of night.

She beckons me within myself;
her deep abyss but a mirror.
Her waters shine in a glimmering splendor
as she makes the path ever clearer.

To leave this shore that raised me
is not a sign of disrespect, but a show
of honor. My broken levees have her
to thank & for that, I call her mother.

In a world with
pain sorrow suffering
grief corruption mourning
angst yearning loving fighting,
where are the poets who bring us
joy through their delightful writings?

If all life meant for me to do was smile,
I'd spend the rest of mine making coffee.

Picture you and me, alone in our blue GT, as we ride out
towards the ends of our suns looking for peace and prosperity.
The winds we make seal our tracks closed
and their fiery chill keeps all actions predisposed.
Our hair sways free as your hand takes mine,
my feet on the pedals and yours to the leather hide.
I wish this now could be our infinity
and that our hearts should be together for now and eternity.
The stars swirl above us as we swerve into darkness,
drunk on our emotions and feeling more than endorphins.
You say you love me and I say it back too,
there's no one on earth I'd rather be with than you.

Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?

Love and confusion confounding the illusion of trust in a systematic regime which they deny ever existed but constantly promise to improve upon. The hat's shape and color may change, but our inability to exchange their deranged platforms for a stabler form of expression exposes our disillusion with dispossession and our embracing being complacent in the face of our rulers' all-encompassing corruption.

Is building Paradise
worth sacrificing
the world
and its humanity?

You can't live a beautiful life
Without getting a few scars.

formalities were always a must,
you'd have to be crazy to forget your manners.
Shoes off, Gi on, Belt ready;
forget that and the push ups would **** you.
As soon as anyone crossed that threshold,
their mind, body, and spirit tuned into an ancient frequency.
We were raw potential energy encased in flesh,
the trespasses we'd endured throughout the week
our sole source of fuel.

Sifu would shout, We would listen.
Our partners would punch us
And we'd block; no thought required.
With every belt, we moved up in the art;
Educated furthermore in climbing ladders.
That was the first time I had ever been disciplined
And not solely abused,
My first real encounter with tough love.

After those classes, I guess I felt safer around my parents,
But that didn't make them good people.
I almost had to fight them once,
Yet I couldn't bring myself to defend the dignity
Already taken from me.

Maybe I should have let my instincts and not my sense
Guide my hand that night,
Maybe then I'd be a hero to myself as well as everyone's villain.

I am so very broke, I can’t afford to pay it thought.
Fettered in a cage by poverty, left only to pray and rot.
The feathers of my soul have been tarred and stained by life.
So much so, I'm not sure if they'll ever again shine bright.
This Bird in my heart used to sing for my hopes and dreams;
Mourning every tragedy with requiems that gleamed.
A little Canary to be all mine until the very end of time,
Staving off this cold world and reminding me I'm fine.

This poverty starved her slow and deep, down to the very core.
Melodies that once remedied despair gone forevermore.
Nowadays, all I can ever do is reminisce about that yellow bird;
How she'd bring warmth to my life's cold hell of a blur.
The way our voices would harmonize on little notes;
Prophecies of a better future foretold from our nook.
That's why I still cling to the distant sound of their words,
Because they ramble on in me until nothing seems absurd.
I like to think she still sings sometimes, though no sound is heard.
That music of hope rings in my mind still, all thanks to Bird.

Every morning I wake up to puddles at my feet,
Storm clouds swamping me and making it impossible to breathe.

The downpour only grows more as the days progress,
A dying glow fading distant in my empty chest.

It's hard to find the storm's eye when it seems to have died,
The tar and ashes from a bonfire burn lowly outside.

But me and my life, I suppose we are just fine...
The rising tide drowning us in it's icy cold brine.

Perhaps one day, it will all come to an abrupt end.
Until that day, I'll drown myself with an ocean of gin.

The moon changes subtly
Whenever we gaze away,
As our worries evolve swiftly
And our joys stay the same.

Perhaps she is a beacon
Baring light for our souls,
Enticing us into her depths
With glimpses of the heart's gold.

Blessed enchantress,
Affixed in a gentle way,
Dragging all from ached misery
And harboring us in her supple bay.

Reject ye thy sun's beating rays
& dispel lightning's spiteful bright tase,
Look only to the night sky as it glistens
If you seek to bask in nature's grace.

A lot of people in life will say
You owe them everything
You have because they helped
You get to where
You are.
Those are the kind of people
that have never been put in check.

So always make it clear,
Never get it twisted:
Help should always be charitable.
Help comes from the heart
of a humanitarian
and not that of a businessman.
Help is Help,
not a bartering tool.

Sometimes being real means putting the G in you aside.

I live for pleasure
And it bores me.
Out of measure,
I live deplorably.
In all frankness,
I always tell lies.
Reality is a mess
I lately despise.
Why not let go?
Why not fritter away?
Because I may never grow
Lest I see the end of the day.

We met at a park by your place,
A hill overlooking a lakeshore vista.
The sunset hung over the horizon
As did our words, awaiting conversation.
The nerves got to me and so I flung my phone,
Your laughter a cacophony which my heart still adores.
We had pizza on a bench that night,
Or at least we tried;
Nights at the park have more bugs than we'd like.
But after all the talking and laughing and grinning,
It's our departing hug that sent me spinning.
I'd give everything to have that time again with you.
But alas, I needn't give anything,
For our nights are still this rich and full of youth.

A beautiful sun shines through a palm's canopy
And casts a shadow over your beach retreat.
Sitting in a lounge chair with a rumrunner in hand,
It's easy to pretend people don't get murdered here.

Now it's nighttime and the city shines alive with neon
As countless youth hop from club to club looking for fun.
Walking down the boulevard while you take in the sights,
It's easy to forget the projects you passed to get here.

The next morning starts with a hefty hangover
And ends with a delicious bandeja paisa.
You've never had such exotically good food in your life,
Yet it's easy to ignore the famished begging on the streets here.

So the next time you visit
And feel all of your problems leave you,
Remember that your tourist dollars help keep our paradise
One fit for a fool.

People are like dense shafts of light
That shine from the heavens 
Down to our mortal plane.
Each individual a different collage
Made up of varied strands and colors,
All based upon their character and spirit.
Those who do good shine brightest
While the powerful boast flames
And the dying flicker.
Don't think your light can be changed?
All it takes is the will to shift the power 
With a deep well of might into the light
You want to be.

Then, let the rest be history.

This is the only time we'll ever meet.
You could be in a cafe
Or a bus as you read this.

My words travel to your eyes
Like light into an event horizon.
Whether you remember me or not
Will never matter.

My name is not important,
But don't let that fool you,
Our meeting is as grandiose
As the creation of life itself.
For my light may flash
A heavenly bright torch

So long as your mind
Can make the right choice.

To linger in the stillness
Of Time's infinite wake
Is to stifle a lifetime
For loss' sake.
Take grasp of Your being,
Brief as it may seem,
For the rest is darkness,
And the silence:
Deafening.

Not unlike the monster for which it was named,
With debaucherous whims that divide foreign lands;
Here at the briny, gilded portal to our home now stands
A hollow woman with a torch, whose warmth
Has become faded and disheartening, and her name
Mother of Philistines. From her once guiding hand
Emerges world-wide distaste; deranged eyes ransack
The smog-filled harbor that dystopias fame.
“Keep, other lands, your progressive pomp!” shrieks she
With welded lips. “Take our tired, our poor,
Our huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of our teeming shore.
Take these, the homeless, tempest-tost from me,
Lift your lamp as a guide and take them all!”

Meadows of loving emotion
Jostle us kindly away
From cascades of swollen ire
That guide our desires astray.

To live life sat atop a plush throne,
You must release your inner pain.
Sweat fluidly and gather a flush tone-
No burdened toil shall fester in vane.

Sitting on a beach as the wind sways gently,
A slender palm tree moves as in a dance.
Reminiscing about each moment lived happily
As the panorama of dusk takes the ocean's lamp.
My senses, though numbed, are primed
To receive the night's embrace.
This evening, though young, burns sublime
Energy into our enlightened grace.

This path on which I've come so far,
It has neglected my condition and left me tired.
The fire within is fleeting like a dim star
As these legs move like thinned wires.
Premonitions of the precognitive sort
Project into my dearest slumbers
To lend a communicative report
Concerning the sweetest of encounters.
But that future seems so far away
And my will to move forward
May waver towards the end of days.

Yet happenstance will show me my way,
She hardly leads the lost astray.

My existence weighs heavy today,
Heavier than any moment to precede it.
I must decide now what will be my way,
If I shall rise to victory or remain defeated.
But in all truth, I feel not afraid.
Other challenges, I have vanquished
Lacking that languished hand of aid.
Yes, life is my special stage.
I shall revel in it's light,
As well as that of my new age.

Tinkling rhythms engulfed us
As we sat in a cuban bistro,
Surrounded by the populace
And having nary a place to go.

We spoke of many things
That curried the other's favor,
Then I noticed her silver rings
And decided I'd wait no later.

This stranger that sat before me,
Blue curls atop her pretty head,
Observed my hand steadily
As it dropped off the table's end.

I reached into my bag and withdrew a rock,
It's complexion of gold and plaque shining silver.
Her reaction was that of pleasant shock
As I wished her congrats on turning a year older.

Now, a year and some days later,
We've both reached a special place.
Day to day I get to face her
And feel my lover's warm embrace.